


War of Hearts

by RavenstagWytch



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, One Shot, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-29 20:20:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13934637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenstagWytch/pseuds/RavenstagWytch
Summary: Will and Hannibal were destined to emerge from the battlefield together, neither of them the winner or loser, but both equally victorious. They were a zero-sum game, and it was time to cease fire.------------------------------------------------------This one-shot explores the power dynamics between Will & Hannibal during their first private moment after the fall.





	War of Hearts

Having been raised in seaside boatyards, Will Graham had always been a devout worshiper of the Goddess that was the open water. When he’d embarked on his righteous pilgrimage to Europe, he had chosen the ocean to be his pathway to retribution. Then in executing his vindictive wrath years later, the Atlantic became his weapon of Judgement when he plunged himself and Hannibal into its hellish depths to await penance.

 

Will remembered the events of it so vividly and yet nearly not at all. The memories held the quality of a nightmarish dream, one which he’d been awoken from too abruptly, the images unable to settle into the crevasses of his mind. When he tried to focus on them they darted quickly out of vision, lingering in his peripherals, mocking and haunting him.

 

What few psychological recollections Will could muster were overshadowed by the physical ones which he’d had to endure alongside them. He recalled surfacing from the breast of the Sea, his body engulfed in a blistering agony that She’d inflicted upon him for his transgressions. Will remembered that Her touch had been cold yet it burned across his flesh like fire, and that the revenge of Her atonement was an intensity he never imagined could exist in this universe or any other.

 

Will remembered the feeling of Hannibal as a lifeless weight in his arms yet swimming him to safety nonetheless, and that he hadn’t a second’s hesitation when he’d emptied Hannibal’s drowning lungs upon the reef; that he had finally succeeded in taking Hannibal Lecter’s life, then promptly returned it to him. And he recalled the meaning behind that revelation affecting him so profoundly that it had immediately transformed him, finally shedding him of the overgrown cocoon he’d been maturing in for far too long.

 

Will remembered himself being reborn on that shore and having nothing less than a treacherous new beginning. He reminisced carrying a comatose Hannibal on a painstaking trek across the rocky seafront under the light of the fading moon, and seeing that dawn had risen by the time he’d managed to stumble them to the sanctuary of a nearby port town. He recalled blundering through the harbor there, feeling as though some unseen force was spurring him onward through a hazy dreamstate of adrenaline and fatigue, and that somehow he’d managed to find a recently fueled and provisioned cruiser sailboat -- almost as though fate had placed it there for those two lost souls to discover. He distinctly remembered the feeling of gospel that had coursed through him then.

 

Although Will couldn’t recite consulting the rutters, lifting the anchor, or hoisting the sails, he knew he’d somehow set them on a southbound course on the currents. He could recall escorting Hannibal into the cabin and lowering him onto the bed there, and his stomach wrenching when he’d realized that sepsis had begun to take hold in Hannibal’s abdomen. Will certainly couldn’t forget the frenzied urgency with which he treated Hannibal’s injuries, yet he couldn’t bring to mind ever attending to his own.

 

He remembered the time spent on the ocean thereafter as being cloudy medley of pain, exhaustion, and distressing uncertainty. Will remembered night and day being inconsequential and serving only as tormenting reminders of how long Hannibal’s condition continued to worsen -- how many times Will had drained, treated, and rebandaged his wounds to no avail, and how many times he’d watched Hannibal through half-lidded eyes as he fought his own desperate need for sleep so that he could ensure that Hannibal did not die in his. Will didn’t recall eating, bathing, or otherwise tending to any other selfly duties while he was tasked with Hannibal’s suspended life, but he did remember spending many hours thinking how peculiar and terrifying it was to be in Hannibal’s space without him being a present force, and that the silence had been all-consuming.

 

What Will did remember with clarity was seeing the shores and ports of _Cayo Guillermo, Cuba_ come into sight, and praising the Atlantic for having carried Her weary disciplines to their destination and asking for no sacrifices along the way.  Will could then extract a blurry memory of pleading frantically with local fishermen to allow them to dock, and being grateful that Hannibal’s wallet hadn’t been displaced during the fall since its contents were what bought them their safe passage into the pier.

 

Will could narrate the time he’d spent loitering in a dilapidated infirmary room, sleep still evading him as he awaited the news of Hannibal’s health from unpolished Cuban nurses. And he faintly recalled feeling something both familiar and unrecognizable when he saw Hannibal’s silhouette finally appear before him, and being so relieved at the sight that sleep had taken him almost instantaneously.

 

He couldn’t say with any confidence how much time had passed before he awoke, but knew that Hannibal had been entirely coherent and at his side when he did. He remembered being gently ushered out of a makeshift bed and Hannibal announcing to him through his tiredness that their luggage had been stocked and their course rerouted: that very soon, they’d be embarking on a ferry to Argentina.

 

Will’s memories ended there. It couldn’t have been more than a fortnight since they’d all began and only an hour still since they ended, but his retention of the events were strangely surreal. Too close and yet too far away all at once.

 

Will and Hannibal were in the present now, having boarded the aforementioned ship about an hour ago. Hannibal had immediately diverged off to check them into their cabin, and Will was taking some time alone on the dock to look out at the Cuban coastline, wanting to commit the sight to his mind palace before it disappeared into the distance to become yet another memory in their continuing journey. Will noticed beads of moisture slicking the vegetation, and the rich green of the leaves starting to play against a darkening sky as the wind quickened and riled.

 

There was a storm on the horizon.

 

Will peered downward, noting the turbulent waters that were cresting against the hull of the ship, and he could feel a similar strife beginning within himself, too. Despite his lifelong conviction, he was growing weary of the Sea and all Her unpredictable waves and currents, gales and gusts, and he pondered how much more of it he could handle in this lifetime.

 

Feeling suddenly anxious, Will determined it was time for a drink.

 

Concluding one final gaze at the fading tropics Will turned to head inside, pushing his way to the on-board bar through the hordes of vacationers. He was quick to flag down a bartender, and when service greeted him he ordered a tall shot of the local Tequila. Downing it in one fell swoop, the small amount of liquor wasted no time invading Will’s system, the pleasant yet abrupt vertigo that assaulted his head coming as both a relief and a surprise. He figured it must have been some time since he last indulged in alcohol.

 

Looking amongst his surroundings, Will felt estranged by the the many smiling faces on ignorant civilian tourists, none of whom had any idea that they were standing next to a man who could arguably be considered a murderer. The thought encouraged him to flee. But first, Will decided to chase the bitter, lingering taste of Tequila with a side of Whiskey, to go, and when the order was was delivered to his hand, he settled his debt and promptly left the area. Once he’d entered the corridor that lead to his and Hannibal’s sleeper cabin, the distance between him and society increasing, he felt the tension in him dissipate.

 

When Will entered the modest room it was vacant, although his and Hannibal’s bags were present. He sat himself upon the edge of the one bed where his belongings had been carefully laid, and then let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. Unsure of what to do with himself while he awaited Hannibal’s inevitable return, Will took turns between rolling his Whiskey in its glass and nursing small sips of it.

 

Will felt unease building within him again, a gnawing mix of apprehension and foreboding fluttering within his ribcage, and he fought between the urges of wanting to relish his liquor or swallow it whole. Soon, he and Hannibal would be having their first authentic conversation in weeks and with everything that had recently come to pass, Will felt overwhelmed, wondering where to even begin with it all. Alchemizing the appropriate words seemed an impossible feat.

 

The idea of curling up into bed and feigning sleep had been looking rather attractive to Will, but after having only a second to entertain the idea he was interrupted by the clamor of the sliding door. Looking to the direction of the sound, he saw Hannibal step through the frame and into the cabin.

 

Will realized then that escape was no longer a prospect.

 

Hannibal had with him a small basin filled with fresh warm water, still steaming, resting atop a medicine kit which he carried delicately to the nightstand stationed between the two beds. Without saying even a word of acknowledgement to Will, he placed the procurements upon the surface, then shuffled them about and began making preparations. While Will had been catching up on much needed rest in Cuba, Hannibal had been working tirelessly without intermission in prep for their departure, and his bandages were long overdue for changing.

 

Hannibal seated himself upon the edge of the bed opposite Will, his movements careful and delayed, making evident that his injuries were still debilitating. Like always however, the expressions of face never dared to betray any discomfort he was feeling.

 

Yet, Will could see something: inside Hannibal’s eyes, resting just below the surface, there was an uncharacteristic weariness present that was all too revealing.

 

Due to Hannibal’s long history of committing heinous crimes and being nearly unstoppable in doing so, ordinary people considered him to be something entirely inhuman - otherworldly, _invincible_. But however indestructible a force he was painted to be, the truth was that Hannibal was not made of diamond, but of glass. The fall from the cliffside had proven a formidable foe, breaking not only his body but fracturing the illusion of his sovereignty over life and death. Now, in their first conscious moment together away from the noise and calamity, Will was admitted a peek through the cracks: Hannibal was exposed, powerless, and altogether mortal. He appeared now as a young Lucifer, having freshly fallen from the excellence of Heaven, wings clipped and bent, forced to walk among the frailty of Man.

 

It wasn’t until this very moment, when the shock of the sight hit him, that Will realized he too had been guilty of dehumanizing Hannibal. He was not sure whether to feel ashamed or astounded - so he he opted for both.

 

The sweater Hannibal was wearing only added insult to injury, burdensome as he attempted to remove it without further provoking his wound.

 

As Will watched, Bedelia Du Maurier's voice resonated faintly in the chamber of his skull, whispering encouragements of crushing the vulnerable bird and leaving him to die. But then Will reminded himself that it was too late for that, having already _voluntarily_ passed on his opportunity. The thought compelled him then to finish what remained of his Whiskey in a single swig, and he placed the emptied glass upon the bedside table.

 

“Ah, no,” Will said in a reprimanding tone. “Don’t.” He then made the short distance across the space between the beds and seated himself next to Hannibal. “Here. Ready?” Hooking his fingers beneath the hem of the fabric he raised it over Hannibal’s head, then eased it off his arms.

 

“Thank you,” Hannibal said simply, polite as always.

 

Will only nodded his reply, then began folding the discarded garment leisurely, taking note of the soft pattering sound that had begun to surround them. Glancing out the small dome of the cabin window, Will saw that the rain had started. He then said a silent prayer in his subconscious, hoping that the coming storm would be merciful, then deposited the pullover neatly at the end of the bed.

 

Turning back to Hannibal, Will began assessing the state of the his wound as he’d done so many times before this. The alcohol having done its job, Will was feeling less apprehensive about conversing now. “I was free of you,” he started, unwrapping the sullied dressings with a mild touch, eyes cast down as he worked. “Finally.”

 

Despite Will’s gaze being otherwise preoccupied, Hannibal looked to him watchfully.

 

“I could have left you there. Let the Atlantic take you. Let it… perform its _Act of God_.” Will’s words echoed of past conversations between patient and therapist. “All I had to do was let you die.”

 

Will reached to place the discards on the night stand, then readied the antiseptic for treatment. He’d done this innumerable times and the process came to him automatically, mechanical.

 

Hannibal was casting aside words for now, choosing instead to observe.

 

Will continued in his stead. “It would all be over, if I wanted it to be.” He gently swabbed the area around the sutures and noted that although the lesion had been closed, the job was haphazard at best. Small amounts of fluid, blood and pustulence gathered about the stitchings and the surrounding skin still appeared bruised and sickly from the trauma. Will worked carefully as he dried the freshly cleansed area with a swath of cotton.

 

“Did you want it to be?” When Hannibal finally spoke his voice lacked its usual purposeful conviction, as though he was merely replying out of habit.

 

“Would you be here if I did?”

 

Will’s question did not require a response, and so Hannibal was quiet once more.

“All those years ago, after you’d been kind enough to release me from the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane,” Will said, bitterness in his voice now, “I came right back to your office... Do you remember why I asked to resume my therapy?”

 

They both knew that the question was redundant; Hannibal remembered everything and forgot nothing.

 

“You said that you had to deal with me. And, your feelings about me.” Hannibal recited.

 

“Mhm.”

 

There was a period of silence between them as Will doctored, but the heaviness in it was slowly evaporating, the two of them settling into a familiarity. And they had the rain, its gentle pitter patter keeping them company.

 

Will was beginning to unravel fresh gauze dressings when Hannibal spoke next.

 

“And did you?” Some interest was there now in his voice, albeit was faint.

 

Will let out a breathy chuckle, but the expression on his face implied that it was more of a scoff. “Would I be here if I had?” He looked upward at Hannibal with a sort of impishness at the repetition.

 

Hannibal studied Will briefly as he deliberated on a direction with which to continue the conversation. “During that first visit,” Hannibal decided, gathering his resolve, “what were you feeling about me then?”

 

Will purchased a moment of hesitation before responding, first allowing his body language to display loudly the animosity he was about to speak. “ _Loathing_.” The word snaked off Will’s tongue with venom. “A simple and clean emotion. One dimensional, easy to place. Easy to… understand what to do with.”

 

But Hannibal was not wounded by the hostility and proceeded forth with professional indifference, adopting his psychiatrist persona. “Did something happen to alter that understanding?”

 

Will paused once more as he traded one emotion for another, his face and voice inheriting a slightly softer quality. “In that state of loathing, I had set out on a quest to destroy you. I wanted to exact my revenge. And to do that, I knew I had to get close to you - to get inside your head, like you had gotten in mine. But along the way, I took a wrong turn, and ended up at your heart instead. At _my_ heart.”

 

Their eyes engaged then, amber and blue mingling with one another in a tempestuous tryst of fire and ice.

 

“And what did your heart have to say?”

 

Will cast his gaze down. He gently pressed the beginning of a clean bandage to Hannibal’s waistline, feeling the warmth radiating from his body as he did. “It told me that it had felt... neglected. Because I never indulged it. Because I always favored my mind.” His admission was shaded with a sadness that reached every corner of his face. “It had seen your heart and was envious. It wanted to be just as free.”

 

When Will brought his eyes back upward, Hannibal’s probed into his, scanning the recesses of his psyche. They were searching for the seeds of thought budding in Will’s mind, hoping to pluck them.

 

“Your feelings about me are rooted in those about yourself,” Hannibal stated assuredly as he continued to look at Will.

 

“Intertwined,” Will echoed.

 

Disconnecting their eyes again, Will began drawing the bandage counterclockwise around Hannibal’s torso tenderly, his fingertips lingering on every inch, memorizing the feel of each muscle beneath them.

 

As Hannibal digested Will’s confession he watched him work, becoming mindful of their proximity and how utterly exposed he currently was. Though Hannibal revelled in Will’s touch, he did so in secret, actively yet discreetly controlling his breath and body so they did not reveal otherwise.

 

Despite the rain sounding louder around them, the silence posed a heavy gravity on Hannibal and so he breached it. “Years have passed since that particular session. Many new events have transpired, and you have grown considerably with those experiences.”

 

“I’ve Become.”

 

Hannibal dipped his chin in a nod. “When we Become, there are many parts of ourselves which evolve and change with the transformation. Which side have you chosen to favor now? Your head, or your heart?”

 

“I haven’t chosen,” Will said firmly, his reply bordering on a correction. “It would be unfair for a parent to choose a favourite child between two.”

 

“Parents may not admit to it openly, but they always have a favourite,” Hannibal countered, his head tilting with the persuasion.

 

“But they don’t have the luxury of _showing_ that favouritism.” Will defended his opinion steadfast. “Good parents feel an obligation to do right by both children equally, no matter their own preferences. For the sake of the happiness of the entire household.”

 

At this, Hannibal relented. “And good parents require an empathetic understanding of what each child is feeling in order to ensure all parties remain happy,” he added. “Do you have an understanding of what your mind and heart are feeling?”

 

“I understand that my mind hates you for having allowed me to open the cage to my heart. For… releasing the beast within.”

 

“And your heart?” Hannibal’s curiosity was thoroughly piqued, genuine now.

 

“My heart…” Will started but then wavered and ceased, exhaling deeply, obviously burdened by the heavy toll enforced by the subject. He took this pause to finish applying the remaining layers of bandaging that the roll of gauze could provide, securing it with a cut of medical tape from the kit. With his work complete there was a brief, barely visible hesitation before Will reluctantly removed his hands from Hannibal, not wanting to to part contact.

 

The delay did not go unseen, and Hannibal grew hungry at the sight.

 

Will pivoted, both he and Hannibal now facing the bed opposite them, their thighs and shoulders parallel and merely a few inches apart. The heat of their bodies mingled with one another, sharing in their own silent conversation through the noise of the rain.

 

Looking through the window, his gaze transfixed on the trickling water, Will finished his previous statement in an almost whisper. “My heart... loves to delight in the wickedness that we share.”

 

A flash of light and a crack of thunder came then.

 

With Will’s eyes distracted, Hannibal allowed his tongue to escape the confines of his mouth and lick his lips, tasting the nourishment the confession offered him. It was the only indication that his emotions were rousing, complementing the increasing unrest of the storm.

 

“How does that make you feel?” Hannibal’s voice mimicked Will’s, quiet and low. Being so close meant they could speak with a gentler timber, even despite the wailing of the wind and rain.

 

“Today, or in general?”

 

“Are your feelings different today than they are generally?”

 

Will collected his thoughts. “For all of my life, I’d allowed my mind supreme reign over the beast. Allowed it to use my chest as a prison. But then you convinced me to let it out, and I became the everlasting battlefield for their bloody war. A fight to the death that never seemed to end.”

 

Hannibal devoured Will’s words but they did not sate him, and so he pushed on. “Did a victor ever emerge from the battlefield?”

 

Will raised his eyebrows at the question, clearly thinking that it was absurd to even contemplate such an expectation. “Ah, no,” he said, a flimsy laugh escaping him. “No, um… But, today they are... at peace.”

 

“...Rather than allowing the war to continue, you ordered that both sides surrender.”

 

“I ordered a _truce_ ,” Will amended. “Meaning that although it’s not necessarily ideal, I’ve come to accept that I have no choice but to live with both simultaneously.”

 

“So. You are willing to allow both your hate and love to coexist.” Despite the bounty the epiphany provided him, somehow Hannibal felt even more famished. “That sort of relationship can be volatile, perhaps even unsustainable.”

 

“Which is why I would allow them to take up arms again should the agreements of the truce be violated.”

 

“It’s a compromise, then.”

 

Will turned his head to meet Hannibal’s eyes once more, their faces becoming tantalizingly close as he did. Will used the nearness to his advantage, honing in on his target as he weaponized and readied his next words in his head. “Don’t _all_ relationships require compromise?”

 

Hannibal felt Will’s aim land true, the long-awaited admittance of their affair becoming a powerful arrow that buried deep within chest. But despite having been struck, Hannibal chose to neither fight nor flee.

 

“And what sort of agreements and compromises does such a relationship require?” Hannibal’s voice was airy, his throat having been reduced to a dry passage, revealing his thirst.

 

Will was keenly aware of it. With Hannibal’s defenses jeopardized he eagerly moved in on his victim, daring to get so near that he could both feel and smell Hannibal’s breath intermingling with his own. “That acts of wickedness and violence are justified only under righteous circumstances.” Each hushed word was delivered with a nuance of flirtation, existing only as additional ammunition to subdue Hannibal further.

 

“Because doing bad things to bad people makes you feel good.” Hannibal’s reply came almost too quickly - hurried and full with as much anticipation and sentiment as he would dare permit. Even then it was too much, but in his state of vulnerability Hannibal couldn’t resist the temptation.

 

Outside, the storm had become relentless, demanding their amnesty.

 

“It makes me feel _righteous_ ,” Will corrected. When he opened his mouth to speak next, he briefly looked down at Hannibal’s own, allowing his eyes to idle there before casting them back upward. “How does it make _you_ feel?”

 

Hannibal copied Will’s movements, taking his time to savor the sustenance the actions provided him. “Curious.”

 

“About?”

 

“The nature of your Becoming.” It was an obfuscation of the truth. Hannibal was curious about many things in this particular moment, though in reality they were all entangled in this single theme.

 

“Is it not what you expected? Am _I_ not what you expected?”

 

“I’ve said once before: I could never entirely predict you,” Hannibal’s answer was a pointed compliment that served to indulge Will.

 

Will detected Hannibal’s lack of resistance, noting that he may be predisposed to submissive tendencies. The thought stirred something positively primal within him, realizing altogether too late that he couldn’t mask the pungent smell of it. A muffled look of gluttony appeared in Hannibal’s eyes as he picked up the scent, and suddenly Will felt as though it was he was who’d become the prey.

 

“And as _I’ve_ said once before,” Will started, defensive now, “you can’t reduce me to a set of influences. And you haven’t.” He declared the tail end of that statement, seeking to reclaim his position of power. “What hatched from the chrysalis is its own nature. It has its own… behaviorism. Separate from yours.”

 

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Hannibal stated softly; another flattery and act of surrender, despite the predatory look in his eyes.

 

Will came to an abrupt and deeply felt realization then: Hannibal was yielding not because he’d been defeated, but because he was utterly proud and pleased with the result of Will’s metamorphosis. With the transformation complete, there was no need for the two of them to continue this bloodshed any longer, and Hannibal was deliberately abandoning his place on the front lines.

 

Will and Hannibal were destined to emerge from the battlefield _together_ , neither of them the winner or loser, but both equally victorious. They were a zero-sum game, and it was time to cease fire.

 

“So…” Will began, gently this time as he laid down his weapons and defenses. “What are your thoughts regarding the terms of this truce?”

 

Hannibal acknowledged the altered tempo of the conversation and slowed himself to match Will in the mellowed harmony, not missing a beat. “Typically, a truce offers both parties some benefit... What do I pose to gain from this agreement?” Hannibal’s eyes flickered to Will’s lips, suggesting that his words merely feigned hostility.

 

Will understood completely.

 

“What you’ve _always_ wanted, Hannibal...”

 

Will trailed off as the two of them relinquished themselves to the new melody, the notes of romance and enchantment coursing through them. Somehow, they became even nearer, their eyes darting between one another’s and across the features of their faces, neither entirely knowing who should lead or follow in this dance.

 

And so Hannibal guided them, inching the tip of his nose so close Will’s that they dared to touch. “And what would that be?”

 

Although Hannibal’s words resounded barely louder than a breath as they left his lips, Will could feel the hot air of them connecting with his own. He shuddered.

 

It felt like a kiss.

 

“... _A friend._ ”

 

And then as two tender mouths caressed in a delicate matrimony that sealed the promise of peace, it was.

**Author's Note:**

> This little one-shot was born because I've always been curious what Will and Hannibal's first conversation might look like post-fall, and I thought the best way to do that would be to write it. Considering the cat-and-mouse/who's-chasing-who power dynamic being a constant theme in the canon, I wanted to include those aspects here -- with, of course, some self-indulgent fluff added in at the end. But I think it's somewhat justified: if Will ends up being the one to save Hannibal's life after the fall, then that also means that there would be no denying his feelings for him any longer (whether they're romantic or otherwise, but in this case, they are!), so I really wanted to explore that side of it, too.
> 
> I apologize if some find the beginning half with Will recollecting the fall to be a tad long. I actually thought about taking it out entirely multiple times, however my inner self didn't want to leave that subject unresolved (plus as mentioned, I think the events of it help to justify the kiss), so I kept it in for selfish reasons.
> 
> I tend to be prone to small ideas that lead to ficlets like these, so maybe there will be more to come in the future.
> 
> Feedback is always welcome! Although I've proof-read this a dozen times over, eventually I tunnel visioned and I'm sure there are are some mistakes. Sorry if there are. Regardless, I hope you enjoy!
> 
>  
> 
> __  
> [You can also find this work on my Tumblr.](https://the-siren-wears-antlers.tumblr.com/)  
> 


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